


Time takes a cigarette

by Lothiriel84



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, Near Death Experiences, Post-Canon, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Fire’s out.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Time takes a cigarette

The thing is, he’s fine now – sure, he still needs his crutches, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out how to clamber onboard G-ERTI, even though he may need a little sit down in the galley afterwards. He’s busy doing just that when he fancies he sees something move out of the corner of his eye – which is weird, given how Mum and Herc are in the Portakabin and Douglas has already left for the evening. He does manage to get back to his feet, eventually, and drag himself down the aisle – and yes, fair enough, he does still feel a bit like he’s been hit by a truck, which he was, actually, though he’s stopped doing that joke around Carolyn because it makes it too hard for her not to look like a bonfire’s worth of smoke got in her eyes.

There is definitely someone lurking by the door to the loo – a passenger, by the looks of it, which doesn’t make any sense at all, given how both Mum and the pilots always double check the cabin before locking dear old G-ERTI up after a flight. “Hello,” he tries, defaulting to his best steward voice out of habit. “May I be of some assistance, Sir?”

“Oh, now you can see me, can you?” the man drawls back at him in a thick American accent, looking and sounding both very cross, and strangely familiar for some reason. “Next thing you’re going to tell me you don’t even remember who I am.”

Arthur’s frown deepens as recognition starts dawning on him. “Mr Leeman? But – it can’t be. The paramedics checked, you were definitely,” he trails off, wondering if it may be too rude to remind a passenger of his untimely demise.

“Dead, yes,” Mr Leeman glares back at him, taking a drag of his cigarette. Oddly enough, Arthur can’t smell any smoke, though he can definitely see it curl up slowly in the air. “And who do I have to thank for that, I wonder?”

“Oh. Me, I suppose. Well, it was Skip who told me to use the fire extinguisher, really – Martin, I mean, he’s not the captain anymore, that’s Douglas now – wait, does that mean you’re a ghost?”

“Of course I am a ghost, you imbecile,” Mr Leeman shouts, and yes, that’s him all right, no doubts about that. “First you gave me a heart attack, and now you have the nerve to come up here and – and mock me, as if you weren’t the one who killed me in the first place.”

Guilt settles afresh in Arthur’s stomach, like a boulder he sort of forgot was there for a bit. “I’m – so sorry, Mr Leeman. I didn’t know that’s what I was doing, honest. I – I don’t suppose there’s anything I could do to make it any better, is there?”

At that, he sees Mr Leeman deflate a little, his anger evaporating into something that looks an awful lot like weariness. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is when everyone else around you doesn’t even know you exist? I’ve been trapped into this tin can for goodness knows how long, with nothing to do except drive myself crazy out of boredom – not even haunt the living, because they can’t bloody see or hear me, apparently.”

“Well, looks like I can now,” Arthur smiles encouragingly, and that’s when an idea strikes him. “I know! We could play games to pass the time – probably best to wait until there’s no one else around though, or they’ll think I’ve started talking to myself. Not that there’s anything wrong with talking to oneself, but Mum seems to think it doesn’t make me look good with the passengers, you know.”

“I’m not going to play games with you,” Mr Leeman spits immediately, and then seems to think better of it. _Poor chap, he must feel terribly lonely up here on his own all the time_ , Arthur muses, even as he patiently waits for him to make up his mind either way.

“I mean, I could go away and leave you to it, of course, but that’ll still leave you without anyone to talk to,” he points out, quite reasonably. Mr Leeman flicks some ghostly ash from his cigarette, then seemingly braces himself for the inevitable.

“Fine,” he says, glumly. “So long as it’s not charades, I suppose.”

“Oh, that’s a pity, I’m really good at charades. Well, how about ‘books that sound more interesting with the final letter knocked off’? I’ll start – Death on the Nil.”

Mr Leeman mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like _what have I done to deserve this_ , and with a look of extreme resignation written all over his face extinguishes his phantom cigarette by crushing it under his foot. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this was inspired by BBC Ghosts, though I expect it doesn't make an awful lot of sense, now that I've written it. My apologies to Mr Leeman for making him a hell of a lot nicer than he ever was in canon.


End file.
